


ungeziefer

by 0plus2equals1



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: F/F, Soulstober, gnawed by the dark vs gnawed by humanity, quiet and kind commiseration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0plus2equals1/pseuds/0plus2equals1
Summary: Irina visits the grave of the fire keepers.
Relationships: Irina of Carim/Firekeeper
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	ungeziefer

Pain dotted and rippled along her flesh like gnats visiting stagnant water. Irina stumbled. Her palms brushed against stone and dry grass. A finger inched forward; to her touch, a roughly-hewn vertex denoted weathered steps.

She struggled to stand; surely her very tendons were caught between teeth. The dark surrounded her, quiet and deep, and the little creatures within ( _s_ _urely they were there, they_ must _be there)_ ate the dregs that sank to the bottom. For she was certain that she was no more than sunken, broken dreck, dead-pale and abandoned by the light. 

(Abandoned, or absconded from, she reminded herself.)

Her fingers caught on iron. She twisted her grip into the gaps. With a shrill, slow squeak, a door fell open.

Irina supposed that she shouldn’t feel so wretched. She lived in an age that reveled in failure, after all. A sainted prince had failed to self-immolate; kindling that hadn’t burned brightly enough had returned to clean up the mess; a quiet nun from Carim had…

Had grown appetizing to the wrong sort of palate, she supposed, and was being consumed in the entirely wrong way.

The subtle coolness of open air about her face grew tepid. Something crunched underfoot. The resounding clatter was familiar. She clenched her fingers against her skirts. There were warm, fond memories within reach, of the one who brought her books, of tales shared with the drag of a fingertip along thick paper, but she feared turning to them for comfort— for what would the little vermin sink their rotten teeth into next?

When she reached out again she brushed against a hand. She flitted her touch along a brittle finger, the knobbly curve of a knuckle, the dusty remnants of a ligament. With a shiver, she ventured further; there was skin, taut and desiccated, along the long slope of the forearm, and then a leathery crease at the elbow. Ragged cloth draped down from the shoulders. The bone-studded stretch of the neck jutted up to the loosely hanging chin and straw-dry hair poked at Irina’s wrist. Above the curve of the cheekbone she found the softness of wax and long-empty eye sockets.

She knew she was touching the corpse of a fire keeper. And what a corpse it was— Irina could sense an _emptiness_ to it, a clean and pure _nothing_ , and an awareness that everything that nameless fire keeper had been was long ago sublimated by her treasured flame and the long shadow that it cast. 

She clasped the dead hand between her palms but felt no comfort at the touch. The little creatures crawled against her calves, at the backs of her knees, chewing filthily— surely she would bleed, surely someone would see. Everyone _knew_ she wasn’t meant to tend the flame, but all sympathies stopped there, at light touches and rare tomes and goodbyes. If they could only _see_ the unclean vermin that emerged hungrily from the dark, and that rationed her so terrifyingly slowly, then surely…

Irina wished for salvation, but she couldn’t fathom the form of it. She’d take it in any shape, she supposed.

Her breath caught in her throat. She sat beside the corpse and bumped a hip against one of its sisters. The second corpse gently lolled against a third and a fourth. Irina breathed slowly.

Time trudged onward.

The stillness of her contemplation was replaced by the stillness of surprise. She felt an initial stiffness when a hand, warm and living, settled atop her own. The shock quickly melted into elation. There was something familiar about the touch— the scent of ash and the draw of the flame, hot and soothing against her skin.

Resigned embarrassment was something she had grown used to; it was almost comfortable. The corners of her lips quirked into a smile. “Oh, sweet Champion of Ash. I suppose you did not expect to find me here. Still— do you wish to hear the tale of a miracle? You only have to ask.”

There was no response; with a growing tightness in her throat she continued. “I can share with you a little story like you usually favor, although… it may be one you are unfamiliar with, and there are but two figures of note. Will you help me tell it? Your role remains the same, but mine…” She sniffed and pulled her hand free of the other’s touch; she held her arm out and gently cupped empty air. 

“Champion of Ash,” Irina recited, “let these souls, withdrawn from their vessels, manifestations of disparity elucidated by fire, b-burrow deep… within me…”

The stranger drew close. Two hands pressed lightly upon Irina’s shoulders. Irina felt a twinge of fear; her little play could be considered more a blasphemy than the recounting of an ancient miracle. While the familiar smell of ash was there, the land was now full of wandering unkindled; perhaps she had come across one that was far less merciful.

The stranger spoke and Irina froze with searing surprise. “Retreating to a darkness beyond the reach of flame,” the shrine’s Fire Keeper continued, “let them assume a new master, inhabiting ash, casting themselves upon new forms.”

Irina's eyes stung. She reared back. “I— I meant no mockery, nor— I thought perhaps you were— I am not, _please_ , take care in— in being so near, for if the— the biting—”

The warmth was close now, pressed against her; Irina felt the gentle brush of hair against her cheek and the metal hardness of the fine silver tiara across the woman’s eyes. The Fire Keeper embraced her.

“It may be best to remain within the shrine,” the Fire Keeper said, “for a time. I believed this door locked and guarded, and I know not of who may wish to inspect this new dark corner meant only to be a place of quiet and final repose. But…” she said, and as she drew back she placed a cold metal shape into Irina’s palm. Irina gripped it tightly; she felt the jagged teeth of a key.

“Mayst thou thy peace discov’r,” the Fire Keeper said, and once more she placed her hand over Irina’s own. “Be it here or elsewise.”

Irina could feel, past skin and flesh and bone, that the Fire Keeper had been scoured bare— that much of her had been been made a space for the sovereignless.

Irina closed her eyes and had a vision of standing at the Fire Keeper's side, each woman as herself.

All the ones she knew were ancient, but perhaps there were some miracles that hadn't happened yet.

She held the Fire Keeper's hand tightly as they walked back into the pale daylight.

**Author's Note:**

> Ungeziefer is generally translateable to pest/vermin, but I mentally grabbed this from the context of Kafka's The Metamorphosis where it kind of leans towards the archaic "unclean animal unfit for sacrifice" (Gregor Samsa becoming an "ungeheures ungeziefer", a Very Large Vermin/Insect/Unclean Thing), which I thought also tied in nicely with Irina's unique position as failed firekeeper.
> 
> This is meant as a double prompt fill for both dark (being the gnawing dark Irina feels) and soul (the shared little speech being what the firekeeper says during the level up screen where you channel your souls into her.)
> 
> thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed!


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